


Her Blood On My Bones

by spockandawe



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, During Canon, Gen, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-01 20:56:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16291652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spockandawe/pseuds/spockandawe
Summary: You’re working by yourself again.Which, which is fine! Really, it is!And you’re, you’reusedto it by now, which is good, because that means you don’t have to feel sad or lonely or anything like that, because this is normal.





	Her Blood On My Bones

You’re working by yourself again.

Which, which is fine! Really, it is!

And you’re, you’re  _ used _ to it by now, which is good, because that means you don’t have to feel sad or lonely or anything like that, because this is normal.

It didn’t… used to to be. You can remember. You remember when you were little,  _ really _ little, and the whole town would go out together to the mines every morning, and you remember your parents always taking you and your sisters with them, and giving you toy pickaxes to play with until you were big enough to use the real ones without hurting yourselves. You know you remember it, because that’s where you learned the songs. Listening to your family and the others singing together while they worked. You remember the sound of their pickaxes hitting the crystal in time with the music, every day, until your parents finally bundled you up and carried you home for the night.

But by, by the time you were grown up, there weren’t as many neighbors. When you asked your parents about it, they calmly explained that people moved away and left sometimes, and that’s just how life goes. But once or twice, you heard them whispering together, worried and a little afraid, though they acted like nothing was wrong when they saw you there. Your sisters would try to scare you on purpose, with stories about how miners would disappear into the caves and never come out.

Still, the village was here, even if it was smaller. Even if there weren’t as many people to sing. Even if it wasn’t like your memories, where the music echoed from cavern to cavern, and it was just your family singing alone until you finished for the day and joined your neighbors to walk home from the caverns in a slow, tired trickle.

And even, even when your family stopped singing as often, you still remembered the songs. You like the work, you’ve always liked the work, but you like it best with music. You like singing while you swing the axe, and it makes the day  _ nice _ instead of being just another day, and you feel so much more content and less tired when you leave for home.

Sometimes you used to be able to tempt your sisters to join in. They’re all older than you,  _ they _ were the ones who used to tease you for not knowing all the songs. But now it’s hard to get them to sing along with even their old favorites. They just swing their pickaxes without speaking, their eyes on the crystals, unless you step in close to get their attention and remind them about the music.

Your mother doesn’t understand when you ask her. She’s tired, you know she is, but you remember when things were  _ different.  _ And, and when you ask her what changed, she just stares blankly at you without understanding, even when you try to find different ways to explain. It seems so simple in your head, and it seems simple to say it, but she doesn’t know what you mean, and you can see her getting more and more frustrated until she finally says that nothing is different, and tells you to go to bed.

Even your father. He used to take little breaks from work to play with you, and say the words to the songs more slowly so you could hear them right. He’d repeat them with you, and swing his pickaxe along with you until you knew the songs by heart. You could pick his voice out of the whole village. But now the village is almost empty, and you can’t remember the last time you heard your father sing. He walks to the caverns and back from the caverns without speaking, barely looking up from the ground. When you ask why he doesn’t sing anymore, he brightens a little and promises to sing with you tomorrow.

He doesn’t sing with you. When you remind him that he promised, he just gives you a long, blank look and turns back to his work.

Later, when you ask him where everyone else in the town has gone, he doesn’t answer you then either.

You sing, because it’s something nice. And, and the work is nice! The work is still nice. Just… less nice, without the company of the music. Without even conversation, these days. You tell yourself that it’s just because your family is tired. Working in the mines is hard, and there aren’t as many people as there used to be. So they don’t sing, and they don’t talk, just work for hours and hours, but  _ you  _ can still sing. You still like the singing.

And for, and for a while, you think your family still likes your singing. They sometimes send you into a cavern where you’re working by yourself, but that’s just sometimes, they still like your singing. Until one day your oldest sister turns and snaps at you to stop the  _ noise.  _

You’re shocked into silence for the rest of the day. The next morning, you’re still nervous, but you get to the cavern where you’ll all be working, and tentatively, you start a new song.

You don’t even make it through a full line before your sister rounds on you again. You flinch, which, which is  _ wrong,  _ she’s your sister— And your parents aren’t even looking, aren’t even acting like anything is happening.

The next morning, you don’t try singing yourself. You go to your father instead, and ask  _ him _ if you can sing. He just looks at you without speaking, but he sighs heavily and turns away. You don’t know, you don’t know how to react, what to say, what to  _ think.  _ But your mother is there, and looking at you, and for a moment you hope— She speaks to you, but only to tell you not to cause trouble.

It knocks you further off balance. Your mother turns away without saying anything else, and all you can do is look at your parents walking away from you, moving slowly down the corridor. Your oldest sister follows them, with barely a glance your way. Your next-oldest sister is there beside you, her hand on your shoulder, and you’re relieved. She was always closest to you, she was the one who played with you longest when you were little— She tells you to just stay  _ here  _ and work. And then she’s gone too.

It takes you a long time to understand. Long after your family disappeared out of sight. You’re— You’re embarrassed, you’re hurt, you’re  _ confused.  _ You’ve been sent to work on your own before, but not like this. It’s hard to believe that just happened, but you can still feel the pressure of your sister’s arm, and her voice telling you to  _ stay.  _

You find a side cavern eventually. It’s small, you tell yourself. It wouldn’t work for your whole family, there isn’t space. And there’s potential here. You can see, in the corner, the shape of the crystal is promising. What’s showing isn’t much, but you think there’s more if you go deeper. So, so see, this is still useful! You can do a good job here, and it’s a job you couldn’t do with the rest of your family, right?

And here, you can sing. You can sing without bothering anyone. That’s a good thing. You don’t want to bother your family, and you don’t want to think about why they’re bothered, and you don’t want to think about when they started being bothered. You’re singing by yourself, but that just means you can sing all your favorite songs without worrying about annoying anyone but yourself. You can sing your favorite songs ten times in a row, if that’s what you want. And that’s good! It’s good.

Hours later, you hear your family coming back through the passages, walking home. You almost miss it. They’re so quiet, walking along without saying a word, without any noise but the steady sound of their footsteps. You rush out to join them, smiling, happy to see them after a long day of work. You’re grown up, you can work by yourself, but you, you  _ like _ your family.

The next morning, you go out with them, and you think— You think that today you’d rather work with your family even if it means not singing. But when you pass the turn-off for your little cavern and keep going with the rest, your second-oldest sister turns to glare at you, and your oldest sister gives you a flat, unamused look. You flinch a little, but nobody  _ told _ you to do anything, and you’re not singing. You haven’t done anything wrong. But then your parents turn back to look at you, and your father looks frustrated and tired and your mother looks exhausted and empty, and you stare at your feet as you turn away so you don’t have to see how your family is looking at you.

You can sing, that means. Singing is good. Singing is still good. You can try remembering every song you ever knew, and if you trip over the words or stumble trying to remember the bits you forgot, you won’t be bothering anyone. And the deposits in this cavern are even better than you thought at first, you just have to go deeper. Just a little deeper.

You’re spending the whole time listening as hard as you can for any footsteps outside, so you won’t miss it when your family leaves— You’re, you’re sure they wouldn’t forget that you’re in here, but you don’t want to make them come get you. And you do hear someone walking by, walking  _ in,  _ much earlier than you would have expected. Your first thought is that one of your sisters turned back to work with you, or maybe your father—

It’s someone you’ve never seen before, a complete stranger carrying a nail. You’re startled enough that you stammer even worse than usual trying to say hello, and wince, but they don’t react at all, or look impatient. And it’s been so long since you got to see someone outside your family, that you can’t help asking them if they want to sing along with you.

And, and you wouldn’t mind that! You’d like that a lot! It’s one of your  _ favorite _ favorite songs, but you’d almost forgotten it, because nobody has sung it since back when you were still too small for real work.  _ Bury my sisters, two by two.  _ Maybe when you go home tonight, you can sing that, and your sisters will laugh that no, they’re going to bury  _ you,  _ and your father will joke that if everyone is getting buried, who’s left to do the burying, and it will be just like it used to—

You remember that, that you don’t know this person, and they’re probably here for reasons more important than singing a silly old song with you. They still haven’t said anything either, but the way they’re watching you is nice enough, and they stood there and listened to you sing, didn’t they. And, and— If they want to mine, there’s lots of crystal to go around! You don’t even mind sharing this cavern with them, this corner— Once you go just a little deeper, the crystal will be beautiful, you can  _ tell. _

The stranger doesn’t make any move towards the mining, which— You feel a little disappointed, because the company would be nice. But relieved too. You would be okay with sharing the crystal, but this is going to be something amazing, something  _ special,  _ the crystal you’re already mining is gorgeous and luminous, and you can tell that it’s going to be even better once you get a little further. 

The stranger doesn’t sing either, but they haven’t said a word at all, so you don’t take it personally. And even if they just want to stand here and listen to you, you’d still be happy to have their company.

Though, though now you’re second-guessing yourself on why your sisters snapped at you. And why your mother and father didn’t stop them. You don’t— You don’t think your singing is awful. You’re not anything special, but you never thought it was bad to listen to. Nobody had ever complained before, and, and of course the most sensible explanation is that they’re just tired and worn out, and maybe they were in the kind of mood where every little thing is a bit annoying, and they didn’t  _ mean _ anything by it.

And you’re rattled enough that you can’t remember the second verse of the song. Which is painfully embarrassing, after you just asked the stranger to sing with you.  _ Bury the knight, with her broken nail.  _ You can get that far, and momentum ought to carry you on, but once you can’t remember the first time, the words keep slipping away from you whenever you grab after them. It’s something about  _ crown _ at the end _ ,  _ you know it is, but everything in the middle— The stranger listens patiently while you struggle through the little bit you do remember a few times, but you don’t blame them when they finally slip out of the cavern and away.

You don’t blame them, but you wish they hadn’t gone. The rest of the day is long and lonely. The only interesting part is when you finally,  _ finally  _ remember the rest of that verse, hours after it would have been useful. Still, now you can repeat it to yourself, over and over, to make sure you never forget it again. Without your neighbors to teach you the songs, and without your family to sing with you, you have to be sure to remember them yourself.

It feels like longer than it should be before you hear your family walking home and you rush out to join them. Maybe it’s just that the days feel so much longer on your own. Maybe it would have been nicer if the stranger had stayed, and you could have become proper friends with them. Maybe you could have told them about the crystals you can practically  _ feel  _ just out of sight in the wall. Your family didn’t even say hello when you met up with them, and they don’t say good night after they get home, but at least you have something to think about besides that. 

The next day, you go to your own little cavern without being told. And then it’s not that you’re being sent away, it’s that you agreed to do this, and this is a plan everybody is fine with. Besides, the crystal— Or whatever it is in the wall, it’s so close. It’s  _ so close.  _ If someone else was here, you could have it already, you think. But it’s nice thinking about having it all to yourself too. 

You sing and sing, locking that song into your memory as well as you can. It’s a good song to go with what’s in the wall, you can tell. You can tie those memories together, and then the crystal will become even better, because you’ll think about the music every time you see it.  _ Bury the lady, lovely and pale,  _ and your voice is in perfect rhythm with your pickaxe, and it reminds you of everything you love best about the mines. And sometimes— It’s just you, alone, you know that, you and the echoes and your pickaxe, but sometimes you can’t help hearing the crystals singing along with you.

And, and you’re so distracted that you almost miss it when the stranger comes back. But if— But if they’re coming to visit, and they’re coming to visit multiple times, does that make them your friend? That would be nice, it’s been so long since you had a friend outside your family. You even invite your, your  _ friend _ to come mine with you, even though it would mean sharing whatever’s behind the crystals in the wall. You don’t need  _ all  _ of whatever it is, you tell yourself. It’s worth sharing with a friend. Still, it’s a relief when your friend doesn’t make any move towards the crystals.

Besides! That means you get to sing them the second verse of the song, since you’d forgotten it yesterday. You practiced a  _ lot,  _ making sure you had the words in your head, but you’re not even close to being tired of the song yet. You don’t know why people stopped singing it, it’s the perfect song for mining work. You could sing and work to this song forever, it feels like. You spend hours like that. You don’t even feel tired, your attention is fixed on whatever it is in the wall, so close,  _ so close.  _ You can feel it in your shell when you touch the stone, and you don’t think you’re imagining the way the crystals glow brighter the deeper you get, but you’re not, not  _ quite _ there, just a  _ little _ further—

You come close to missing it when your family leaves the mine. You hear it, you hear them walking past. But you don’t  _ understand _ what you’re hearing at first, all you can think about is the treasure buried in the wall. You realize, a few minutes after the noise passes, that your, your family probably is going home, right? Who else would that have been? How long have you been here? You’re not tired, but you’re sure your parents could use the rest by now.

When you rush out into the passageway, they’re already gone, you have to hurry down the corridors yourself, catching up to them only just before you exit the caverns. And— Your oldest sister isn’t here, you realize. Is she behind you? You turn to glance back towards the caverns, but she’s not with the group. Your mother isn’t either, or your next-oldest sister. Half your family is here, but not the others. 

But when you slip up forward to ask your father, he looks so unconcerned that the question dies before you even properly finish it. You just awkwardly trail off into silence, and he gives you a quick, blank glance before looking forward again, back towards your home. None of your other sisters react either. Nobody— Nobody  _ looks  _ like anything is the matter. You guess your mother and other sisters just stayed behind to keep working a little late. That happens sometimes. The others would already know, they just must have forgotten to tell you. But that’s okay! You figured it out yourself, so that’s okay.

You try to stay up late enough to see them coming home, but at some point you drift off, and when you wake up in the morning, they’re still not back. But, but still nobody is acting like anything is the matter. And they’re all getting ready to go to the mines like nothing is wrong. And, and even if something  _ is _ wrong, then you need to go back to the mines to fix it, right?

Maybe— You think that this morning, you’ll go along with the others for a little while, just for long enough to check on the rest of your family. Your sisters might snap at you for causing problems, and you’re  _ sure _ your oldest sister will be annoyed if you come along to the family’s spot instead of staying in your own little cavern, but she can just be annoyed then. You’re just going to make a quick side trip to see if she’s okay.

But then when you’re walking through the passageways, you can  _ see  _ the turnoff where you’ve been working, and you can see the faint light of the crystals, you can  _ feel _ the light in the air, you can feel that it’s special. You can feel how close you are to uncovering what’s in the wall. Just a little further, just a  _ little  _ further. 

You turn from the group before you realize you’re doing it. And for a moment, you remember— Your family, you were going with your family. You were going to— You were going to see if someone was okay. You were going to see if your mother and sisters were okay. But it’s hard to hold onto that thought, and it’s hard to remember why it was so important. Your father was fine. He wasn’t worried. Nobody else was worried. So it’s fine to stay here, right? After you’ve found the treasure in the wall, maybe _ then _ you can go check on your family.

You sing and  _ sing,  _ and the crystals all sing with you as you chip at the wall. You don’t know how many times you repeat those two verses, but the time flies past while you sing them, and you don’t feel tired, don’t feel like you want to stop, don’t even feel like you want a break, and the treasure in the walls is  _ so close,  _ so bright that you can almost see it right through the stone, so close, practically whispering to you about how close it is, how beautiful it will be when you finally break through.

The only thing that momentarily distracts you is that you remember the song had a third verse.  _ Bury my body,  _ you sing, without knowing what you’re saying, and then you pause for a moment, distracted by the way you don’t remember what comes next. You  _ only  _ pause for a moment, the treasure in the walls is more important than anything else. But you keep thinking. You keep trying to remember. You can feel the words there, just out of reach.  _ Bury my body, c-cover my shell,  _ and you’re speaking more than you’re singing, but between the treasure and the words, it’s hard to spare attention for the music.

There’s a reason you want to remember the words, you think. You were going to— You were going to sing them? Yes, you were going to sing. But did you want to remember them  _ for _ someone? Was it for your family? The light in the walls pulls your thoughts away, and all you can look at is the impact of your pickaxe against stone and crystal. You repeat that single line, over and over, until finally,  _ what meaning in darkness?  _ If you could spare the attention, you’d laugh. There’s no dark here, not even the usual cozy gloom of the caverns; whatever is in the wall will illuminate the whole mountain as soon as you get it free. 

You hear a sound behind you, but you don’t turn. Can’t turn?  _ Won’t  _ turn, you won’t look away from your treasure, not when you’re so close.  _ Till light blooms again,  _ you remember, and you’d laugh if you could spare the attention. You’re so close. The light is there, the light is right there, just under your pickaxe and under your hands, and you won’t have to wait forever, just until you get a  _ little  _ further.

There’s more noise behind you, but you don’t let it distract you. The light is the important thing. You’re so close, and all you can think of is how much longer you’ll have to wait. You’re working, you’re working as fast as you can, and you should be tired, but how can you be tired with  _ this  _ waiting for you? You’re speaking, you think, mouthing words without music, but the crystals are singing anyways. Not quite the words you’re saying, and it almost sounds like  _ KILL IT, KILL IT,  _ whispered to the rhythm of the song, but you don’t know what it means, and you can’t and won’t and  _ can’t  _ look away from the light in the wall, your entire world narrows to the impact of your pickaxe and the light the light the light the  _ light— _

The light is more beautiful than you could have imagined. You stand there, unmoving, for a lifetime, just gazing into its heart. The light isn’t just in the wall. The light is in everything. It’s in  _ you,  _ it’s a burning heat under your shell, an extension of the light flooding the world around you. You swing your pickaxe at the wall again and again, even though the light is already here, already  _ in you.  _ You swing your pickaxe, and some part of you remembers,  _ bury my mother,  _ but you can’t remember what that is.  _ Bury my sisters, bury my sisters, bury my sisters.  _ It’s a rhythm moving with the pulse of the light inside you, a single driving beat to match the rise and fall of your pickaxe, lasting across time and time and  _ time,  _ and you won’t stop and can’t remember why you would ever want to stop.

This time, when there’s a noise behind you, you don’t turn. But the light, the  _ light _ pushes through to whisper,  _ THE VOID,  _ and to whisper,  _ KILL IT. _ Kill it, you agree. You turn, face the empty one, and raise your pickaxe.


End file.
